


start what i finished

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: niall wakes up with cis girl bits sometimes and harry can cure it with his dick.written july 2016





	start what i finished

Niall peeks out through the hotel curtains for the fiftieth time, even though it’s dark out and he’s only got a view of the back of a building and some neon sign in French he can’t read. Harry’s a half hour late and Niall can’t stop fidgeting.

He takes a gulp from the water bottle he bought on the train, wipes his mouth, startles when there’s a knock at the door. Shit. Alright. 

It’s Harry, and he’s alone. He has a dark blue hoodie on and a beanie over his shorn hair. Niall hasn’t seen him in months, and Harry’s presence hits him like something physical. He has to catch his breath.

“Hey,” Harry says, shutting the door behind him. He looks tired. He’s clutching his phone in one hand. “Sorry, I didn’t get off set til a bit ago. I was gonna text you but my phone died.”

“Hi.” Niall’s abruptly embarrassed of the dress he’s got on, though Harry’s seen him in far less. He tugs at one bra strap. He wants to say something about how he had to wear it to travel, but it feels a bit defensive. “You alright?”

“Good. Fine.” Harry turns to check the lock on the door. Niall takes the opportunity to run a hand through his hair, like Harry’ll care if he looks good.

“Thanks for- coming,” he says. “Seriously, Haz, you didn’t have to.”

Harry turns back to him. “It’s fine. You get here safe?”

“Yeah, it was fine, I took the train.”

Harry pulls off his hat. “Good.”

“The hair’s sick, mate,” Niall says awkwardly. “You look good.”

Harry huffs a laugh. “Thanks. I keep trying to put it up and remembering.”

There’s a silence. Niall wipes his sweaty hands on his dress. It was never hard before, not when they were on tour and all he had to do was shoot Harry a text, wait five minutes until Harry’s knock came soft on the door. Harry would crawl into bed with him, laughing and excited, and Niall would forget to hate his fucked-up body for a while.

They used to kiss, every single time. Niall licks his mouth like a reflex, just as Harry says, “So, um, how long have you been-“

He gestures at Niall and Niall tugs at the hem of his dress nervously. “Ten days now.”

“Shit.” Harry’s eyes slide down his body. They both know it’s the longest he’s ever switched. “And you don’t know why?”

“No. Not really. I mean, I- I missed a couple days of pills, if I’m honest.”

“Wonder how long it’ll last,” Harry says, almost to himself. “If we don’t-“

“Could be months, the doctor said, since I’ve been like, suppressing it with the meds.” Niall draws in a shaky breath. He’s grown out of the fear that comes with this body but it still makes him wobbly, to imagine it going on for that long. He doesn’t even know what he’d do. “And I can’t even take them when I’m like this. It can cause bad, uh, side effects. It’s boring, anyway-”

“Side effects? Like nausea and all that? The stuff you had before?”

“No, like blood clots,” Niall says, voice breaking. That’s the one that’s been stuck in his head since Dr. Lee said it the week before, peering at him across Niall’s kitchen table as Niall fiddled with the band-aid on his arm from the blood draw. He clears his throat. “Cancerous cell formation. Shit like that.”

“Jesus,” Harry mutters.

“Yeah. It’s… not good.” Niall forces a laugh. “Apparently they meant it when they said experimental treatment. I’m a bloody idiot for missing any doses.”

Harry catches his eye for a moment and then looks away, tossing his beanie onto the desk. 

“This feels a bit sordid,” he says, snorting. “Like rentboy-ish.”

“Can pay you if you like,” Niall says, trying to laugh along with him. His face is hot. “I’ll leave it on the nightstand. Ten quid?”

Harry smiles absently, running his hand along the desk. “You, uh, you need anything before we-“

“No,” Niall says, cheeks going hotter. Harry probably wants to get it over with so he can go. “I, um. I’ll just- I mean. I’ll get undressed.”

He turns away, towards his bag on the table, and reaches down to tug his dress off. The room’s frigid from A/C and he shivers, just as Harry slides a hand onto his bare side.

“You don’t have to-“ Niall starts, squeaky from cold and the feeling of Harry’s fingers. Harry’s already unhooking his bra from behind, latch by latch. Niall numbly reaches up to grab it. His nipples are hard.

“How long’s it been since the last time you switched?” Harry asks quietly. He’s running his hand down Niall’s side and even though Harry’s quite literally there to have sex with him Niall still feels shocked by it.

“Uhh, February,” Niall says, breathless. “I was in Thailand, I just waited it out.”

“Couple days?”

“A week.” Niall shuts his eyes. He thought a lot about Harry, that week, lying in a muggy hotel room in Phuket in his underwear, eating pad thai and papaya salad Basil brought back to the room and scrolling endlessly through Instagram. Turns out touching himself to the thought of Harry’s dick doesn’t have the same effect on his body as Harry’s actual dick.

Harry’s hand is resting just above the hem of his briefs. His thumb rubs slowly against Niall’s hip and Niall has to suppress a shudder.

“Just February?”

“April too,” Niall admits. “But that was only for a few days.”

“Thought you said the pills were working.”

Niall swallows and reaches down to shove his pants off. “They are. It used to be more.”

Harry knows exactly how often it used to be, but he doesn’t say anything, just hums low and takes his hand off Niall’s hip. When Niall looks back he’s stripping out of his gym shorts, balancing on one leg.

Harry pulls off his hoodie and there he is, tall and naked, all his tattoos just where Niall remembered. He’s bigger than he was, more muscle in his chest and arms, and he smells fresh like he’s just showered.

Niall turns away to hide how he’s blushing. There was a time when he never hid how he felt from Harry - when it was both of them, wanting each other, so hot and intense Niall sometimes wished he could keep from changing back, at least for a little while. They spent the entire day in bed once, a big plush hotel bed somewhere in America, curtains drawn, room service plates stacked high outside the door. Niall came so many times he lost track, from Harry’s fingers and his cock and his tongue, and by half-nine they were both sleeping soundly, curled together on the duvet, the dirty sheets crumpled on the floor next to them.

Now it feels like Harry said. Like a transaction. Niall’s stomach knots up with anxiety and he fumbles in his pack for the box of condoms he picked up at a petrol station on the way.

“Here,” he says weakly.

“Magnum,” Harry says, sounding amused. “That’s flattering, cheers.”

“Fuck off.” Niall tosses one at his head, and Harry laughs, a dimple winking in one cheek. He fishes another out of the box, reaches a hand down to touch himself, and Niall looks away desperately. Jesus, he’s got no clue when he started getting so squeamish about this. It used to feel - well, not natural, because nothing’s ever gonna feel natural about waking up with a cunt- but, like. It felt better.

He needs to get out of his head. Problem is, Harry’s the only one who’s ever gotten him there, and now everything’s weird between them.

“You alright?” Harry asks softly.

“Fine.” Niall wipes his palm over his face.

“If you don’t want to do this,” Harry says, as slow as always.

“Course I do,” Niall says, cutting him off. He steels himself. “I mean. We’ve got to.”

“You could ask someone else,” Harry mumbles, and Niall doesn’t respond. They both know he can’t. Harry knows all about the time Niall changed while Harry was in LA during a break. Niall picked someone up at a bar and took him to a grotty hotel room and woke up the next morning with a cunt and tits just like the night before. It doesn’t work with anyone else, only Harry.

What Harry _doesn’t_ know is that Niall stuck around, that morning, and let the bloke fuck him again.

Harry doesn’t know about - a few things. Niall’s other experiments. The guy in Dublin who held his hips while Niall rode his cock, his tits bouncing and the guy laughing appreciatively up at him, thumbing at his nipples. The American bloke who bent him over a sink in a club in New York, the bass thumping under their feet as he fucked Niall in short sharp jerks, people pounding loud at the toilet door and Niall laughing, drunk and exhilarated.

When he’s himself he hooks up with girls, and only girls. That’s all he wants, nothing else. Not even Harry, not even on the mornings when they woke up sticky and naked and twined together. Harry tried it a few times, moved his big hand down Niall’s stomach and kissed the back of his neck, but Niall never let him go further than that.

Even when he wanted to. Some mornings he really really bloody wanted to, still caught in the haze of the night before, everything soft-edged and easy. Harry sleeps with men sometimes and Niall bets he knows what he’s doing. He bets Harry could make him feel good.  

But he can’t. He can’t, because then it’s- different.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by Harry’s hand on his waist. His face is serious and close.

“Hey,” Harry says. “This doesn’t have to be weird.”

Niall laughs, a bit hysterically, and Harry cuts him off with a kiss.

_You don’t have to kiss me_ , Niall thinks to say, but Harry’s licking inside his mouth and Niall can’t speak. Harry walks them back towards the bed and lays them both down and Niall can speak, then, but he doesn’t want to. He just pulls Harry’s mouth in for more.

—

It’s just as good as he remembered. That feeling of being full, the weight of Harry on top of him and the way Harry doesn’t stop fucking him even after they both come. 

“God, god, fucking hell,” Niall gasps, and he’s still cursing when Harry kisses him, open-mouthed and lush. He’s rocking his hips inside as he sucks at Niall’s tongue and Niall squirms on his still-hard cock and maybe comes again, he’s not sure, another roll of pleasure washing over him, every sound he makes lost against Harry’s mouth.

Finally Harry stops moving inside him but he doesn’t stop kissing him. Niall can’t stop either, can’t stop opening his mouth eagerly. He grabs anywhere he can reach - Harry’s hair, his warm firm back, his arse, and Harry groans and kisses him and kisses him.

They have to breathe eventually. Harry lifts his head, panting, pupils blown, cheeks red. Niall’s shaking as he comes down, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling. It’s been such a bloody long time since he was fucked.

Harry pushes himself up on an elbow, slipping out of him. Niall shuts his eyes so Harry won’t see that he’s crying a bit.

But it’s no use, cos Harry skims a thumb over his wet cheek and leans down again to kiss his mouth. Now that Niall’s a bit less useless he should really push Harry away, but he doesn’t. He’s greedy. He lets Harry in again, slides his tongue luxuriously against Harry’s while Harry runs his hand through Niall’s hair.

It’s a while before they stop. Harry pulls away, thumbing over Niall’s raw bottom lip and tipping Niall’s head back to kiss his throat. Niall shivers and slumps back against the pillows.

“Well,” he says, only a bit dreamily. He coughs. “That should do it.”

“Yeah.” Harry sits next to him, stretches over to drop the used condom in the bin. He looks down at Niall, and Niall blinks his heavy eyes open, watching Harry’s gaze slide down his body. Shoulders, tits, stomach - Harry’s eyes linger between his legs.

Niall doesn’t move but his stomach contracts, hot. Harry reaches out with one hand, runs his thumb very gently, low across Niall’s belly, right before his pubic hair starts. Niall’s mouth goes dry.

“Should do it,” Harry says, fingers sliding down through the soft dark hair until he’s spreading Niall open with one hand, staring at him dark-eyed. He thumbs against his clit and Niall chokes. “But d’you wanna do it again?”

Niall nods fiercely, his voice caught in his throat, and Harry smiles and crawls forward, reaching for his mouth.

—

Niall staggers to the shower afterwards, legs wobbly. Harry’s in bed, scrolling through his phone when Niall glances back at him.

He washes himself slowly - a rare thing when he’s switched. Usually it’s a quick job - shampoo, conditioner, rub soap in his pits and the hair between his legs, and then snap the water off. Any longer and he starts to get dizzy and detached from it all, stumbling out of the shower and trying not to look at himself in the mirror. He’s felt that way all this past week, not wanting to see or touch himself, like if he ignores his messed-up bits they’ll go away. 

But it’s different after Harry fucks him. Niall lets his head tip back under the hot spray, water running down his neck, between his breasts. He inhales deep, exhales slow.

The door creaks open just as Niall’s stepping out of the tub, wrapping a plush towel under his arms. Harry’s there, still naked. His hair’s sticking up everywhere and there’s come on his belly from where he pulled out and wanked himself off after Niall got too sensitive and couldn’t handle Harry’s prick inside him anymore. Niall averts his eyes.

Harry bites his lip. “Hey.”

Niall tugs up the towel. “Hey mate.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, fine.” Niall watches as Harry settles beside him at the sink, running a flannel under the tap and dabbing at his stomach. Harry’s back is tense again even though he came twice in the last hour. Or at least Niall thinks he came twice. When Harry’s doing stuff to him it’s hard to pay attention to much else. Jesus, maybe Harry didn’t enjoy himself at all. Niall swallows. “Was that, like-“

He stops, stupidly. He didn’t mean to start that question out loud.

“Was that what?” Harry blinks at him in the mirror.

“Nothing.” Niall’s face is hot. “You, uh, you have dinner yet?”

Harry rinses his hands. “No. I was gonna grab a bite with a- couple people from the film.”

Course he was. Niall nods, re-tucking his towel.

Harry catches eyes with him in the mirror. His mouth is still so - wet. Niall holds his gaze.

“Or I could blow them off,” he says. “We could order room service.”

Niall squints to see if Harry’s pitying him.

“Bit tired, anyway,” Harry says. His mouth is twitching up at the corner. “Kinda feel like cheating on my diet and getting a burger.”

“Christ, don’t start about your fuckin’ diet.”

Harry looks down, dimples peeking out.

“I’ll stay,” he says. “Where’s the menu?”

—

Harry does eat a burger. He also eats a plate of chips and half of Niall’s pasta. Luckily Niall also ordered roast chicken, so he doesn’t have to stab Harry in the hand with a fork for stealing his food.

“Jesus, that diet must suck,” Niall says, laughing when Harry fumbles for another pillow to tuck under his neck and sprawls back, looking pained.  

“It does,” he says, rubbing the heel of his palm over his full belly. “I’ve gotta look all war-starved, mate, I eat like two chicken breasts a day and I’ve got this trainer who kicks my arse. I stole an extra’s biscuits the other day, I was so hard-up for carbs.”

“Aww, poor film star. What a rough life.”

Harry kicks him and groans at the movement, folding his hands over his stomach. Niall slides down into bed next to him, whipping his towel back up when it comes undone as he moves. Harry doesn’t seem to notice, eyes closed.

Niall wants to press his forehead to Harry’s arm. He settles for saying, unsteadily, “I missed this, mate. Should come to mine when you’re next in London, we can- we can do dinner. Hang out. Whatever.”

Harry’s eyes are open again, staring, inscrutable, up at the ceiling. Niall watches him until Harry looks over at him and then Niall jerks his eyes away. _Stupid_.

Harry pushes himself up on an elbow.

“I will,” he says, and there’s this _thing_ in his voice, that makes Niall furious. Harry always sounds like that when he thinks he’s saying what Niall wants to hear. It wouldn’t annoy him so much if Harry actually meant it sometimes.

“Don’t have to, mate,” Niall says, crisp. “I was just saying it’s been a while.”

“I want to. I- I will.” Harry’s watching him and Niall stares as hard in the opposite direction. He’s ready for Harry to reach over and turn out the lamp, ready for a night of uncomfortable silence or, worse, Harry sneaking out once he thinks Niall’s asleep, but then Harry swallows audibly and runs his hand over Niall’s bare shoulder, lightly.

“We should,” he says. “And we should hang out, like, now.”

Niall tries to laugh but Harry’s quietly unfurling the towel from Niall’s chest until he’s exposed, nipples stiff in the cool air. He can feel the flush starting on his neck. He should stop. He should stop this. He doesn’t want to but he should.

“Christ,” Harry says very softly. 

“Haz-“

“You look so fucking good, Niall. You’re so fit.”

Niall shuts up, breathing hard, because it’s never not gonna feel good to hear Harry say that. Harry’s shaping his hand around one of Niall’s soft tits, squeezing, thumb rubbing over his nipple. He leans down to suck it and Niall squirms closer, letting out a groan.

Harry stays there for a while, kissing Niall’s nipples, licking at the skin until Niall’s wriggling, trying to keep his hands flat to the bed, arching his back. He keeps making awful sounds, high and embarrassing, and then Harry pushes aside the towel over Niall’s crotch and lowers his head and Niall keens, all his shame gone out the window.

He’s sore and raw but Harry’s so careful and soft, just his tongue and his lips. Harry’s soft until he’s not and then Niall whines, shoving Harry’s head down, his chin pressed hard and unyielding inside him as he licks and sucks and makes Niall come, finally, gasping as he pounds the bed with a fist.

Niall can’t breathe. He pants at the ceiling as Harry lifts his head, licking his shiny mouth.

“Shit,” Niall breathes. “So good. Fuck.”

Harry tips his cheek against Niall’s skinny thigh. “You liked it?”

Niall shudders, still coming down. “Yeah, fuck, Hazza. Like- _fuck_.”

Harry makes a laugh-grunt sort of sound against his leg and Niall looks down. Harry has a hand between his stomach and the bed, rubbing his trapped cock, face still between Niall’s propped-open legs. He’s gulping in air, hips rolling against the bed.

Niall blinks at him, almost terrified. In all their years doing this, he’s not sure if he’s ever really - watched Harry make himself come. Sure, he’s seen it through half-lidded eyes as he fell asleep, seeing Harry crouch next to him and wank furiously, or when Harry accidentally came too soon once and jerked out of Niall and spurted all over Niall’s belly, already apologizing.

But not like this. Not intentionally.

Harry moans, rolling his hips up. It brings him closer to Niall’s cunt, and after a second Niall puts his hand back in Harry’s hair and urges him down again. It seems like the right thing to do, because Harry groans so loud Niall feels it against his skin. He kisses Niall between his lips and Niall watches Harry’s arse rise in the air as he humps the bed like the taste gets him off. _Jesus_.

“Feel- so fucking good,” Niall says, dazed. “Your mouth, mate. Your- your mouth.”

Harry’s face goes tight and his hand moves faster.

“Wish- wish I could do it all the time,” Niall chokes. “Wish you could - eat me out all the time, feels so good-“

Harry flops his head against the inside of Niall’s thigh. His face is pained, eyes squeezed shut. Niall’s recovered enough to run his hand down Harry’s hot cheek, down to his swollen mouth.

“So hot, Haz, you fucking slag,” Niall breathes, and Harry sobs and comes. It’s barely enough to spurt but it’s a good effort, cock jerking hard in his hand and his whole body rippling. He lets go of himself quickly, wincing like it’s too much, keeping himself propped up so his dick doesn’t drag against the bed. Niall stares at his face and imagines Harry’s sore cock back inside him, Niall wet and hot around it, sucking him in. Harry would whine but he’d like it, he’d-

Niall shakes himself as Harry crawls away from his body, flopping down weakly into bed next to him on his back.

“Shit,” he mutters, and Niall grunts in agreement, fumbling for his discarded towel to fold back over his cunt and thighs. He’s too - raw or something, he’s not sure- to lie there naked like Harry is.

Harry sighs slow. Niall knows the sound of that sigh. He knows Harry’s falling asleep, and he knows that when Harry wakes up and Niall wakes up it’ll be different. Normal, Niall tells himself. It’ll be normal again. Thank god.

Still, he moves closer to Harry, until Harry’s leg is hot against his and one of Harry’s arms is stretched out behind Niall’s head.

Harry yawns, and Niall twists out of place for a minute so he can reach and flick the lamp off. He settles back in quickly, before Harry has a chance to move. But Harry’s asleep now, Niall can hear it. Niall closes his eyes.

He can’t wait til morning, til he can get home and get back to it. Still, he doesn’t fall asleep for a long time.

—

Niall wakes up as the sun’s just rising, the sky starting to glow around the thick curtains, and immediately reaches down to grope between his legs. Cock, and balls, and a flat chest, and Niall feels a hot shiver of pleasure at having his body back. Thank fuck.

Harry’s asleep beside him, drooling onto a pillow. It’s so like all the other times it throws Niall for a loop. Even at their best, the mornings after were weird. He can’t imagine how this one will go.

He rolls out of bed, relishing the weight between his legs as he ties the towel around his waist. So Harry can still - fix him, then. They used to talk endlessly about why, about the science, about Niall’s diagnosis. And then one night they were all very drunk and sitting around a table at a crowded sticky bar in Texas and Harry leaned over to him and said, “D’you ever think it means something? About us?”

Niall had yelled, “What?” even though he knew straightaway what Harry meant. He was switched just the night before, of course he knows what Harry means. Harry fucked him twice and then rubbed his dick against Niall’s arse in the morning, lazy and half-awake.

Niall was tempted, but he was trying very hard not to think about that.

“You,” Harry said against his ear. Niall could see people watching them. On his right, Louis was telling a loud story about football, gesturing wildly. “What I can do. To you.”

Niall shivered just from the breath and wet on his ear, and thankfully Harry dropped the subject, at least until the next time Niall switched and then he said it again, when he was inside him, cock fat and heavy in Niall’s cunt, Niall arching his back for more.

“M’the only one who can do this for you,” he gasped. It wasn’t dirty talk really but Niall whined anyway, digging into Harry’s back with his stubby fingernails. “No one else- no one else does this for you,” he repeated, and Niall choked back, “Yeah, fuck, no one-“ and they were both coming suddenly.

Niall has some theories. Most of them he keeps very deep down in a locked box in his brain that no one’s ever gonna open.

He turns the coffeemaker on- a fancy Nespresso machine with shiny colored pods in a glass bowl and little packets of natural sugar. Harry’s starting to stir by the time the coffee’s ready, and Niall takes a fortifying sip and crawls gingerly back into bed, a safe distance from Harry and his long legs and his gropey sleep-arms.

Harry feels him there, turns over and peers up at him.

“Morning,” he croaks, squinting at Niall. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, it’s- yeah. Fixed.” Niall reaches for his coffee. “Thanks.”

Harry nods, hugging a pillow to his chest. “Time’s it?”

Niall looks over his shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. “Half-six.”

Harry groans.

“Too early?”

“No,” Harry says, yawning til his eyes squeeze shut. “Well, yeah, but I have to be on set in an hour.”

“They’re working you hard, huh?”

Harry opens his eyes and looks at him suspiciously like he’s not sure if Niall’s taking the mick. Niall’s not sure either. He knows Harry’s working hard, and yet there’s some mean little bit of him that doesn’t want Harry to think he’s done anything special.

_Oh, yeah, I get it_ , Louis said once, when Niall was very stoned and explaining his theories on Harry’s entire person as they passed a bowl back and forth. _You just get so sick of him getting every single thing he bloody wants_. _Nothing better than that, like, mortally offended look on his face_.

He laughed harshly and Niall didn’t say anything more.

Harry rolls out of his bed, not looking at him. “Mind if I shower?”

“Go for it,” Niall says, awkward, and Harry quietly shuts the door of the toilet behind him.

Niall shoves the crumpled duvet onto the ground and sprawls back into bed, reaching over for his phone and giving himself a nice grope in the process. He missed his dick.

He texts Basil - _Im back baby! What time will Erik be here ?? Thanks for figuring that out ._

To his manager he sends just an emoji, the baby boy with a blonde curl over his forehead.

Finally he clicks Celine’s text from the day before. _So so excited to see you on Tuesday!! I’ll take a cab to your house when I get in. Xxxx :)_

Niall didn’t respond because his phone was charging, and then because Harry was there and Niall was getting his brains fucked out. He lifts his head when he hears the shower turn off, and quickly taps out-

_Excited too !! Yea text when youre here._

He adds a kiss emoji and hits Send, just as the toilet door opens. Harry has a towel loose and low around his waist, water dripping down his chest. Niall looks away carefully. It’s just confusing in the morning sometimes. Sometimes he still - wants stuff.

“You’ve got a way home?”

“Yeah, got security picking me up at the hotel this afternoon. Not Basil. Someone new. So it should be alright.”

Harry hums, nods. He looks at Niall for a while, until Niall feels hot.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Harry says. His face says it’s not nothing.

“What, Harry.”

“ _Noth-_ ing,” Harry mutters. “Just realized I haven’t seen you in a while. That’s all.”

Niall wants to say, _and whose fault is that_? He doesn’t, though, because that would make them talk more about it, and in Niall’s experience it’s always a better idea not to.

“There’s coffee,” he says uncomfortably, before he remembers it’s a single-serve machine. “I mean, you can make some. Or have mine.”

“I’m okay.” Harry runs a hand through his wet hair. “Niall-“

He sounds pained and serious. Niall hates when he sounds like that. The last time he sounded like that was when he told Niall they couldn’t really do this anymore, because of the hiatus, and other reasons he didn’t go into. Niall agreed they couldn’t do it anymore, and then he went back to his empty hotel room and drank a minibar bottle of Jack Daniels at ten in the morning and pressed his face to the cold glass of the window, gritting his teeth so hard it gave him a headache.

“What,” Niall says shakily.

Harry stares at him again.

“Nothing,” he repeats, and then he drops his towel and crawls onto the bed, naked and big. Niall backs up against the wall, heart jumping.

“Haz-“

“You don’t have to do me,” Harry says, thick. He puts a hand on Niall’s ankle. “Like I get you’re not into blokes but- I- but like, Niall, just let me-“

His head ducks and Niall’s flopping his legs open before he can stop himself. It’s instinct. It’s not like it’s the first time Harry’s had his face between Niall’s legs, it’s just-

It’s just the first time Harry’s gotten him hard, kissing Niall’s stiff cock, hands clamping over Niall’s thighs in a way that feels even better than when he’s switched. Niall gapes at him.

“Harry,” he chokes.

“Say no and I’ll stop,” Harry mumbles, before he slides his mouth down Niall’s prick. His hands move around to cup Niall’s arse, tilting his hips up and holding him still.

_No_ , Niall thinks, and then, giving in- _yes, yes, fucking Christ, yes_. Harry’s sucking his cock and Niall’s thought about this, despite his best efforts, about Harry’s eager mouth on him. He puts a hand on Harry’s familiar warm head, but when he shoves Harry’s head down like he’s used to Harry gags hard and pulls off, panting.

“Sorry, fuck,” Niall gasps. “You alright?”

Harry looks up at him, eyes glazed over. His cheeks are flushed.

“You taste so fucking good, mate,” he says hoarsely. Niall’s dick gives a wet twitch and Harry looks at it, heavy-eyed, curls his hand around the base and sucks him down again.

When he comes into the hot suck of Harry’s mouth, Harry looks up, and even that’s familiar- Harry’s pupils blown, his lips wet and swollen. It’s familiar how Harry crawls up his body and it’s familiar how Harry kisses him and then Niall tastes himself bitter on Harry’s tongue and feels Harry’s hard cock against Niall’s spent one and that’s - different, that’s all different.

It’s good though. Niall opens his mouth and lets Harry lick inside and it’s bloody _weird_ but it’s good. Harry’s rubbing against his thigh, making noises into his mouth, and they’re further than they’ve ever gone the morning after. Niall has no clue what’s happening but he doesn’t stop it.

Finally Harry pulls himself back with an effort, sits up on his haunches. His dick’s hard, red and sore-looking from the night before, and Niall has to drag his eyes away. He wishes, for a split second, that he still had a cunt Harry could fuck. 

“Can I just-“ Harry says, putting a hand around himself, voice so rough it’s hard to understand him. Niall nods numbly and watches Harry wank himself off, right there. It looks like it hurts.

Nothing comes out when Harry comes. Niall can only tell because of the way Harry’s face screws up and his muscles contract, hand going still on his dick.  

He watches as Harry slumps, looking out of it.

“You okay?”

“Hnnh,” Harry mumbles, eloquently. “Yeah.”

Niall nods, gingerly, and rolls off the bed. He needs to get away, because the only thing he wants to do right then is pull Harry down into bed again, touch his flushed face, kiss his mouth. All very bad ideas.

He’s washing the come taste out of his mouth when Harry comes in, and leans against the door. He’s staring at Niall in the mirror, brow furrowed.

“Wha?” Niall says, muffled around the toothbrush.

“You can ask me sooner,” Harry says, very serious. “If it happens again. Don’t wait it out.”

Niall blinks at him. “But you said-“

“Yeah, I know.” Harry swallows. “But I was just- I was being selfish.”

He runs a hand through his hair, sniffs in hard. “It’s not always, like. Easy for me.”

Niall’s face is hot. He ducks to hide it, spits into the sink and turns the water on. “Well, sorry. That’s why I didn’t bloody ring you before. You didn’t have to do this-”  

“That’s not what I mean.” Harry swallows again, audibly. “It’s not easy cos you’re not into blokes.”

Niall looks up at him, startled. Harry’s eyes are dark on his and Niall feels a swoop of vertigo. He clenches his hands on the cold marble counter. 

“Never mind,” Harry says, after a taut silence. “Just- ring me, okay? And don’t bloody miss any more doses of your medication.”

“Fuck off,” Niall says unsteadily.

“I’m just saying. Don’t be stupid.” Harry wheels around and Niall’s left alone in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. _Cos you’re not into blokes_. As if- as if things would be different if Niall were.

That’s a load of shit. If Niall fancied boys Harry would still be the exact same flaky slag he’s always been. It wouldn’t change a thing.

He’s running a hand through his hair, trying to stall, when Harry comes back into the toilet, fully dressed.

“Better go,” he says. Niall nods, tries not to go stiff when Harry throws an arm around his waist from behind and kisses his cheek, all forced-casual like things aren’t bloody weird between them.

“Sorry to run off,” he mumbles. “But I’m late already.”

“Off to war,” Niall says wryly, and Harry snuffles a laugh against his neck. He kisses Niall there, lips soft on the back of his shoulder, and lets him go.

“Have a safe trip back,” he says, voice thick. Niall watches in the mirror as Harry ducks out of the toilet. The door shuts solidly behind him, and then the room’s hushed, silent. Niall draws in a steadying breath. Alright then.

—

He falls asleep on the long drive back, wakes up when they hit rush hour traffic heading into London. The backseat’s quiet and cool, a half-empty bottle of water in the cupholder. Niall digs his phone out and checks his messages, scrolling listlessly as they inch towards home.

_Not easy cos you’re not into blokes_.

What the hell did Harry mean by that? Niall glares at his phone screen, knee jiggling.

There was this night, last year, when they were in America doing album promo. Harry was in Niall’s hotel room, flicking channels between footy games and infomercials and an old sitcom, and Niall was propped against the headboard with an icepack on his knee, moaning at Harry to bloody decide what to watch.

Finally they settled on a rerun of Friends, and Harry crawled up to snuggle against Niall’s side. Niall let him, cos he’d had a drink or two and Harry was quite nice to cuddle with.

Two episodes in and Niall thought Harry was asleep, breathing softly against his shoulder. He was about to disentangle himself and go wash up for bed when Harry said, “Niall? Do you believe in fate?”

These were the kind of weird, out of left field questions Niall had come to expect from Harry, especially tipsy Harry, so he only laughed a little, and then said, “I dunno. Not really. Why?”

Harry shrugged. His hand was on Niall’s thigh, right at the end of his shorts.  

“It’s weird, isn’t it,” he said. “When you switch. How it’s only me who can-“

“Harry,” Niall said warningly, and Harry pushed on.

“- like, it’s a medical condition. It shouldn’t work for us to just-“

“Harry!”

“But it works. And isn’t that like, a miracle, almost? Like you can’t explain it.”

Niall stared determinedly at the telly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Well, don’t.”

Harry’s hand moved up Niall’s thigh, against the grain of soft hair. Niall drew in a wobbly breath. They didn’t touch like that when Niall wasn’t switched.

“Haz, stop it.”

Harry stopped. He dug his fingers into the meat of Niall’s leg for a moment and then let go.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” he said, and Niall ignored him pointedly. Eventually Harry went quiet, and stood up to leave.

Niall unrolls the blacked-out car window a crack, needing fresh air, feeling dizzy. Sometimes he thinks he knows exactly what Harry was trying to say, back then. It doesn’t matter, though. Even if he does know. It really doesn’t matter.


End file.
